


Home

by cedarfrost



Series: davekat drabbles [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6659686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarfrost/pseuds/cedarfrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being alone is the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is lmao. it's gay as hell

It was nights (days? Fuck, who even knew on this godforsaken meteor) that you had to part that were the worst. 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you don’t know what the fuck your feelings are. Okay, well, that’s nothing new at all, but fuck if you knew what quadrant you and Dave fucking Strider fell into. Sometimes, you were sure it was flushed, but others? Hell, it could have been black or pale or some disgusting mess of the three. You just know you feel the constant need to have Strider at your side, holding your hand, playing with your hair. Fuck, you don’t know what to do with yourself anymore. 

It had been a movie night. You let Dave pick the movie, and, to his credit, it wasn’t as shitty as you thought it would be. Apparently, he actually paid attention at least a little when you spoke, so he knew the kind of bullshit you like. You know your taste in movies is...less than desirable, but you can’t help it. At least you aren’t watching that weird human anime bullshit. Absolutely not. Goodbye.

Movie night had turned into lazy kisses and mumbled words of affection, but with petnames such as “dickweed” and “asslicker” tagged on the end. Romantic, of course. You still don’t know why you and Dave don’t just always sleep in the same block, but at least an hour after the movie ended, you parted ways. You figured Dave just wanted to have some alone time and do whatever it was humans did on their own. Whatever. You could handle it. 

Or maybe not.

Because as soon as you’re alone with nothing but your thoughts for no more than ten minutes, you feel like screaming. It’s like all the self loathing suppressed by Dave is hitting you all at once, and you can’t handle it. It makes your chest hurt, your pan feel like it’s frying. Your eyes burn because you’re trying so, so hard not to cry, even though that isn’t happening anyways. You’re such a fucking crybaby, sobbing like a wriggler who dropped his goddamn food every time someone leaves you alone. You hate yourself, for the most part. You don’t know what anyone sees in you at all. 

You and Dave always go to a secluded room to watch movies and hang out. The problem with that, now, is that you’re alone. Completely and utterly alone, and that makes you feel like you’re going to be sick. You can’t cry out for anyone; no one is going to hear you. The silence of the room aside from your hiccuped sobs is deafening and your head is spinning. 

You dig in your pocket for your palmhusk (the humans called it a cell phone? whatever) and opened Trollian, looking to see who was online. You’re not going to message anyone, you’re too much of a scared little shit, but at least knowing people are online is something that helps a fraction. The tiniest fraction, but it’s still there. You see the little yellow dot beside Dave’s username, signaling he’s away, and it just makes you feel worse. You wonder what he could be doing, because, fuck, do you need him and his stupid perfect face and stupid perfect hair and stupid perfect everything. 

You feel like you’re drowning. You can’t breathe, you can’t bring yourself to get up and find someone to help you. You’re familiar with anxiety attacks, all too familiar, and you hate it. God, you hate it almost as much as you hate yourself, which is saying a lot. Your breaths are coming too quick, quicker than you can manage. You feel like you’re dying. Well, you guess feeling like drowning and feeling like dying are basically the same thing anyways. Your bloodpusher is pounding against the inside of your chest, it hurts, it’s too fucking much. Everything is too much. 

You want to go home. 

You nearly jump from your skin when the door opens, cowering into the back of the couch. 

“Hey, Karkat, have you-- wait, fuck.”

It’s Dave. It’s just Dave, he isn’t going to hurt you or anything like that. You don’t feel real. It’s like your body doesn’t really belong to you. You want to crawl out of your goddamn skin, scratch it all off. It’s wrong, you shouldn’t be here, it isn’t--

“Karkat, listen to me. Take a deep breath, you’re alright.”

You hadn’t even realized Dave had moved closer until his hands are on your face, the pads of his thumbs stroking the tears from your eyes. He’s taking deep breaths, showing you how. You copy him, placing your shaking hands on top of his own, steady ones. It takes a few minutes, but you get your breath back. With a kiss to your forehead, Dave pulls you into his lap and against his chest, where you can hear his bloodpusher (the humans call it a heart?) beating steadily in his chest.

With that, you realize a simple thing. 

Dave /is/ your home.


End file.
